“Nonsense. Let them see what they are getting.”
Long boards had been arranged down the length of the hall and streamers hung. Despite the rain that fell steadily outside, scores of torches made the large chamber bright as day. So long as the torches did not set the streamers alight and burn the place down.
Bradana almost hoped they would.
The boards groaned beneath the weight of food, and the mood seemed merry enough. As soon as Bradana entered the room, Kendrick summoned her to sit beside him. On his other hand sat Mican, and his son beyond.
Most the men of the clan filed in, many with their women.
Not Adair MacMurtray.
Bradana ached to ask Kendrick where Adair was, if he’d been forbidden to attend or sent off. Kendrick wanted Adair gone and no bumps in this path he’d chosen.
That much became evident when he rose to speak.
“Welcome all to my hall here tonight. And a most hearty welcome to our honored guests. Tomorrow’s handfasting will see the forging o’ a powerful and important alliance that will benefit not only our two clans, but all of Dalriada. A grand step toward making good our claim to conquer all of Alba. Let us drink to the success of the union, and to many swords raised as one.”
His listeners drank with enthusiasm. They stamped their feet until Mican rose in turn.
“I agree wholeheartedly with what my host has said. The only way we will keep hold o’ this land is by standing together. We at Clan Gillean feel fortunate to welcome Mistress Bradana, who will bear a new generation o’ Albans.”
Cheers arose. They did not cheer for Bradana but for a chance to end the fighting, to sleep safe in their beds at night. To own this land they had come to love.
No one expected, nor would they welcome, Bradana getting to her feet and lending her voice to this chorus, even though she was the means to the end they sought, and her body would bear those children.
Her mother, seated on her other side, sent her a worried glance, as if she feared Bradana might indeed arise and speak up.
So much depended upon this. Upon her.
Mother still did not look well. Her skin had a grayish tinge, and she kept placing her hands on her belly. She had eaten almost nothing. How could Bradana upset her further by making a scene?
She leaned toward Mam. “Are ye all right?”
“I only wish this feast would end.”
“Are ye still having pains?”
Mother shook her head.
There was music, though, to come. Kendrick’s bard, an aged man called Kallen, told a long and winding tale of Kendrick’s ancestors. Then Mother bade Bradana take up the harp in turn.
She rose to do so, if reluctantly. Earrach and his sire had showed little appreciation for her playing last time, but the crowd was far larger now. Her own clansfolk would surely listen with courtesy.
She sat between the tables on a stool one of the servants had placed for Kallen and took up his instrument, since it was at hand, and hers was not.
Her mind went blank. Pinned by all the staring faces, including Earrach’s dark visage, she could not remember a note to play.
Kallen leaned toward her. “Something simple, mayhap, mistress? Anything will do.”
But Bradana could think only of Adair. Of her longing for him. If only she might play for him as she had when he lay so sore hurt in his quarters.
If only she could make a song that expressed what she felt for him.
And all at once, that song came. It arose unbidden from the longing in her heart and wove up through her, a glorious, bright, and lovely shower of notes. It wound through the air of the chamber, dancing with all she felt for the man of her heart—friendship, loyalty, and love.
It wove a spell that touched every one of her listeners, that warmed them and held off the rain. A song of love eternal.
When she stopped playing at last, there was silence. She sat with her head bent, fingers suspended on the strings, and the no one made sound until Earrach began clapping.
